Remember when-?
by The Girl Who Wanders
Summary: My New Year's resolution! I will upload a single one-shot each week- enjoy! This has started off as part of the Sherlock Fandom, but I have ideas for other fandoms also- so this may become a crossover. At the moment this is 'K', but may increase with later chapters.
1. Remember New Year resolutions?

**Hello! **

**So, this is MY New Year's resolution- write a one-shot every week for a whole year! ****I hope it goes well. I am usually terrible at keeping them! However, they were ones that I was only half-arsed to do anyway (such as to stop being so hyped up- HA! Couldn't do it even if I tried!) but this is one I'm really excited to do.**

**Enjoy, and have a happy New Year from England!**

**-Lock **

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**John Watson (M.D)'s New Years resolutions:**

1) Lose weight. Go out to the gym. _(And try to stop snacking on the ginger nuts- SH)_

2) Blog more often _(and try to keep it more to the truth this year, John- if heroes exist, I most defiantly wouldn't be one!-SH)_

3) Fix things up with Harry _(Again?-SH)_and to meet more often. (_Remember what happened last year? –SH)_

4) Try to get Sherlock to eat/sleep more, and to stop shooting at the wall _(One step at a time, Jonathan- SH) _

_5) _Tidy up the flat (and KEEP it tidy!) and stop Sherlock from putting decomposing sheep's tongues on the side. _(Um… no. –SH)_

6) To stop signing my initials when whomever I am texting knows me. (_Do I have to too?- SH)_

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**Sherlock Holmes (the World's Only Consulting Detective's) New Year's Resolutions**

I) My New Year's resolution is to stop making ridiculous 'promises' to myself that, statistically, I will keep only until the eleventh of January. (John's making faces at me. I guess I'll have to carry this on. How... delightful.)

II) Purchase a cat. (I've watched all of the six seasons of _The Big Bang Theory_, and I think Sheldon has the right idea. I need someone who will not challenge my intellectual superiority.)

III) Find a better place to hide my skull. Or find things to blackmail Mrs. Hudson with when she refuses to give it back.

IV) Find a way to refuse to help Mycroft without John or I being kidnapped.

V) Pickpocket Lestrade (I need keys to the prison in addition to his I.D badge. I would like to go and spend some time with the people I've put in there, for my own amusement)

VI) Deprive Mycroft of cake for an undecided amount of time.

* * *

**Gregory Lestrades (Detective inspector of The New Scotland Yard)'s New Year's resolutions**

A) Solve at least one case by myself.

B) Read the _Science of Deduction_ a bit more (it may have some useful tips?)

C) Stop loudly proclaiming 'it's not our division'- Donovan made it into a 'meme' and I have since been ridiculed as it has found its way onto a social networking site called _Tumblr_.

* * *

**James 'Jim' Moriarty (Formerly Professor of Sciences at Oxford, now full time Insane Criminal Mastermind in Prison)'s New Year's resolutions:**

1) Get out of prison.

2) Get Sherlock.

3) Get Sherlock.

4) Get Sherlock.

5) Kill Sherlock.

6) Kill him so hard he dies twice.

(**Note to self**- Get out of prison first.)

* * *

**Mycroft Holmes (Minor Position In The British Government)'s New Year's resolutions**

1) 'Accidentally' bump into D.I Lestrade more.

2) Finally get Sherlock to wear Mummy's traditional knitted jumper for his birthday, Easter, or Christmas. (I may have to involve Doctor Watson in this)

3) Stop kidnapping Doctor Watson and Sherlock (Unless necessary)

4) Work on same-sex marriage laws in England (Dear dear, Mister Cameron. We'll have to have a word, will we not?).

5) Stop my love affair with cake and have one with D.I Lestrade instead.


	2. Remember when Americans could fly?

**Remember when... Americans could fly?**

**Rating: K**

**Characters: A BAMF!Mrs Hudson, James Boole (my own character: not canon), mentions of John, Sherlock and That American Guy who hurt Mrs H in 'A Scandal'.**

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A/N:

**1)**I don't know how popular Neighbourhood watch is abroad. Here, in England, it is quite popular but isn't a very spoken about subject among people my age. For those who don't know,

**Groups of like-minded neighbours get together to help reduce crime and help make their community safe; unsurprisingly, they're called 'Neighbourhood Watch'. They work in partnership with the police and their duty is to report any suspicious behaviour from groups or individuals, accidents and general annoyances. Most times, nothing gets done- unless it's very serious. **

Can you imagine little ladies behind their net curtains on Baker Street? I think Mrs Hudson would be a bit different… living with Sherlock and co, 221B would be a hive of 'suspicious' activity!

That done and said, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

_Dear Mrs A. Hudson,_

_It has come to our attention that, at 4.30PM yesterday afternoon, an American male between the ages of 21-38 was seen being thrown out of 221B's window several times and crashing into the metal bins at high speeds._

_Not only was this disturbing for those who witnessed, but it was also noisy; it disturbed sleeping children and meant tempers ran high. Many younger residents also learnt new profanities from the American man, which doesn't help._

_We tolerate most of your oddities, Mrs. Hudson, from Mister C-Doyle to Mr S Holmes. We have had to call the fire services many times due to your residents 'experiments', which we could've charged him with arson._

_Those on Baker Street also cannot sleep due to domestics from the tenants in 221B._

_We have also had to put up with your current residents shooting in the air, floor and the walls, some of which on one occasion punctured the water mains pipe and meant we, on Baker Street, were without water for three days._

_We should not have to put up with this, Mrs Hudson. This latest action has crossed the already thin line._

_This is an official warning from Baker Street Watch._

_The Watch was formed in 1997 for the "prevention of crime and promotion of peace" on Baker Street. I'm sure that, like me, you cannot think that having living projectiles flung from your windows repeatedly is a peaceful gesture._

_In future, should this ever happen again, we will be forced to take legal action._

_Please, for the sake of Baker Streets and the greater good, move your current tenants (whom we believe to be Mister S Holmes and Doctor J Watson) out._

_Yours,_

_James Boole,_

_Head Chairman of Baker Streets Neighbourhood Watch._

* * *

Dear Mister Boole,

Thank you for your kind letter.

I can assure you my boys will not be making a habit of throwing 'living projectiles' out of the upstairs windows. That incident was a one off, and I doubt the American male of which you speak of will be out of hospital anytime soon.

Believe you me, he wasn't particularly nice and I'm sure Sherlock and John had good intentions as to throwing that man out of the window. Sherlock, before-hand, had asked my permission and assured me he was 'restoring [karmic]balance to the universe'.

If you were as good as you say you are, where were you when said Man broke into my home and man-handled/kept me hostage? I don't recall any of the Neighbourhood Watch helping me out.

I am also aware of the profanities shouted by said man, but that stopped after the second throw so shouldn't have really been a problem- you're fussing over nothing; from experience, I know full well that many of the youth of Baker Street know much, much worse.

As you know, you can report incidents to the police but they don't have the power to stop them from happening in the future- we were helping Baker Street in a more hands-on manner.

Yours faithfully,

Mrs Aggie Hudson,

(Proud) Landlady


	3. Remember when it was for a case?

**Remember when... it was for a case?**

**Rating: K+  
Genre: Crack!, Humour.  
Characters: Lestrade, Sherlock, John, The-muderous-gardener (My character, non-canon)**

**A little Crack!verse- basically somewhat out of character but hopefully (!) funny. A little wacky and wild for my readers ;)  
Thanks to everyone who was reviewed, fav'ed and messaged me about this story! It means a lot to me, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it.**

**I am taking promps, so don't be shy! **

**See you next Sunday! xxxx**

* * *

Fussing with tights. Lacy top. Lipstick. Eyeliner. More lipstick, more red.

Looking in the mirror, Sherlock Holmes thought he would've made a much better girl. The long, dark wig curled slightly at his collarbone, his eyelashes the longest they've ever been and his lips a post-box red, Sherlock barely recognised himself.

'I can't believe you're making us do this.'

Ah. John and Lestrade made much less convincing girls, it was to be said.

John was obviously embarrassed, needing no blusher- his wig was long and red with a ruffled full fringe, reaching to around mid-back, his thin lips pink and mascara smudged. As a reflection of his personality, he'd worn somewhat loose jeans and a female jumper, covered with cats. The cats had googly eyes. It was not a good look.

Greg, on the other hand, was fully embracing his new-found feminine side. John thought it was only a matter of time before both he and Sherlock were squabbling over the mirror.

While Greg, with his platinum blonde hair, waxed eyebrows and neatly manicured nails, was quite convincing as a woman, a few things gave him away; Sherlock hoped on-one touched him up on the dance floor, lest they come across a very muscly, very hairy, very _manly_ leg.

Why're we doing this, Sherlock?' John grumbled.

'It's for a case.'

'And you're using my case to explore your fetishes?' Greg scoffed. Sherlock glared at him, before looking in the mirror above the sink, readjusting his top over his non-existent cleavage.

'I've told you Lestrade, you want to catch the gardener. The gardener comes here, and due to the lights we can see the trace of the white powder on his hands.'

'But why're we women?'

'Because we will be more approachable that way.'

'I don't see why_ I_ have to do it.' John muttered, his hands clasped round himself self-consciously.

'Because you're my partner in crime-'

'Sherlock!'

'Okay, okay, my Boswell. My Blogger. My Little Army-'

'Don't push it.'

Sherlock smirked. 'Yes dear.'

There was a small silence for a moment, while Greg looked John's vile jumper up and down. John saw him looking in the mirror for a moment before fixing Greg with his steely _'I-was-a-soldier-I-have-killed-people'_ look. Greg, in return, grinned and prodded John in the arm.

'Girl, that jumper is _not _your division.'

John punched him.


	4. Remember when Sherlock could ride?(pt 1)

**Remember when... Sherlock could ride?**

**Rating: K+  
Genre: Humour, romance.  
Characters: Sherlock, John, Mummy Holmes (mentioned), Rosaline, Chomper.**

* * *

**I am so sorry for the absence. My aunt had a baby but they are both seriously ill and my aunt has an infection which has reduced her mental capacity to that of a three year old. It's been stressful that I haven't had time to write. I've also had numerous tests, exams and homework which has meant that I didn't have time to breathe.**

**This is part one- part two will be up soon, I just didn't want you guys to wait any longer.**

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**A/N: Non horsey people, listen out!**

Horses are measured from their withers (the shoulder looking parts where the saddle comes to a stop at) and in 'hands high'. One hand is equal to four inches. My favourite horse (Denzil) comes to sixteen two hands, and his shoulder is taller than the whole length of me (I'm 5'5).

2) Just because they're measured to their shoulder doesn't mean that they aren't much taller; when Denzil lifts his head, he around seven-ish feet tall (around the height of a door).

3) Rosaline is, in my head, around about 17 hands. A horse that tall has a shoulder height of 5 feet, 8 inches tall, so if she lifted her head we'd be looking at around eight to nine feet in height.

4) 'Hacks' are going out of the yard (or where ever you are) on horseback. In America, I think they are called 'trail rides'.

* * *

'John, I'd like you to meet Rosaline.'

Rosaline was quite a thing to behold- John couldn't help but feel intimidated.

Her icy eyes matched Sherlock's; not in colour, no, but in the way they both stared at you. Sometimes, it was kind; other times, it was less so. It was as if you had been stripped of your outer core and your soul was laid out for them both to see.

Her golden hair was soft but with an odd, coarse texture under John's fingers, and her pale blue eyes watched the man behind him fondly. Without thinking, the detective leaned in a moment later and breathed in her scent from the crevice of her neck.

Rosaline didn't seem to mind.

The way Sherlock talked to her, the way they both moved, with grace and elegance cancelled out the fact that Rosaline was, really, a horse.

She was big, grey (Sherlock said- although John thought she looked more of a white-y colour) and towered over everyone, Sherlock included. While Sherlock was happy to lean into something that could, quite easily decide to hurt him, John was slightly more reluctant.

It had been a chilly day over at the Holmes' house, and the stables out back had looked invitingly warm; Mummy Holmes, especially since her son hadn't visited her in so long, greeted them both with open arms.

However, just because they were both there on a visit did not mean they both got out of work; they had spent the morning, after changing into more comfortable clothes, mucking out the fifteen plus stables the Holmes' had.

'Do you want to go for a ride later on?' Sherlock asked John, who was coming back from the tap with two buckets filled with water.

'I don't know how to ride.'

'I'll teach you, then. We'll go out back into the woods- there are no main roads around here, it's perfectly safe.'

John bit his lip, nervousness tugging in the centre of his stomach. 'Who will I be riding?'

Sherlock blinked nonchalantly. 'Chomper, of course.'

The name did nothing to ease John's nerves.


	5. Remember when Sherlock could ride? (pt2)

**Remember when... Sherlock could ride? (pt 2)**

**Rating: K+**

**Genre: Humour (?), bromance-if-you-squint-a-bit.**

**Characters: Sherlock, John, Mummy Holmes (mentioned), Rosaline, Chomper.**

**A/N:**

1) Getting up from the floor is incredibly hard to do if you or the horse is tall or you're heavy (unfortunately, I'm 5'5 and quite heavy so I find it difficult to get on without the saddle slipping). I can imagine Sherlock (or Benedict) would find it quite difficult because he has to ride a taller horse to accommodate his weight and the fact that he's quite tall.

2) Many horses will **not **stand still if you run at them. I've only met one horse that you could run at and haul yourself up onto, and she would only let certain people she trusted do it. **Do not try this on your own horse!**

3) I've gotten on a horse backwards. For newbies, it's a really common mistake. It's actually pretty comfy until it starts walking and you can do no commands except for 'go faster!'

3) 'Tea' is a drink but also a term for dinner. My family and I are quite English, so we are more likely to say 'tea' than some of the Americanised girls in my class. I imagine John is quite the same.

4) This chapter has a change in person (because I felt like it) and it's a little longer. Enjoy! :)

* * *

It had taken not too long to get the horse's saddles and bridles. Getting the on had been another matter entirely.

Chomper, unsurprisingly, had been a bit more reluctant to leave his stable; Sherlock was bitten twice in the process. He stamped, whinnied and snorted at Sherlock, who was using most of his weight on the lead rope to try and get him out of the stable. Being a thin sod with not much body mass to speak of certainly was a disadvantage now.

'He's not such a Grumpy Bastard when he's under saddle,' Sherlock assured me, while giving Chomper a smack with the palm of his hand. 'He used to be one of the best horses here.'

Rosaline and I had been watching the events unfold, and Rosaline was the exact opposite of Chomper- she stood, quietly waiting for her Dad to come back and getting the bit and bridle on had been no trouble at all. She had even nuzzled into me, promptly pushing me over. I swear her little nicker was the horse version of a mocking laugh.

While Sherlock was nearly double kicked by the Horse From Hell, I could only hope that star quality had not been over ridden by the desire to kill humans.

* * *

Chomper, thankfully, was much smaller than Rosaline. What he lacked in height, being only around 15 hands, he made up for bone size- being very cobby, the saddle that Sherlock tacked him up with has half the size of my whole arm.

However, once he was under saddle, his whole demeanour changed; his ears went forward, his eyes sparkled and he no longer tried to kill us all. I wonder if it was anything to do with the thick, metal bit. It had chains coming from it which wrapped around Chomper's chin, unlike Rosaline, so I guess it wasn't an ordinary snaffle.

Sherlock, unsurprisingly, had full gear. It wasn't immediately obvious that it hadn't been used in years- the boots were shiny, with no visible scuffs; the jodhpurs were hole less and the hat was dust free.

Because of_ course _Sherlock could ride. He probably started learning how to when he was three or something, on one of Mummy Holmes' many horses. And then, as I found out recently, Mycroft bought him Rosaline for his fifteenth, which he promptly took to.

They obviously miss each other. Even when Rosaline stepped on Sherlock's toe and he winced, she suddenly realised her mistake and nuzzled into him, asking for forgiveness; honestly, I've never seen Sherlock look so happy.

* * *

We got mounted not long after, and I accidentally got on backwards, even off of the mounting block. Chomper started to walk casually around the yard, leaving me very embarrassed, and Sherlock pissing himself laughing.

After (thankfully) getting the right way round, I challenged him to get up without the mounting block or the fence, expecting the saddle to slip or him to fall off of the other side. (Come on, it'd given me a laugh! It'd be nice to know he wasn't good at _everything!)_

The lanky git had to show off; he ran at Rosaline, and just when I thought he was going to smack into her side he literally _jumped_ the full 5'8 to get on her back, then had the cheek to calmly collect his reigns and smile innocently at me.

Then I remembered, albeit too late, why you never, ever challenge Sherlock Holmes; his ethic is quite simple.

Sherlock Holmes is the man to thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge him, he would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place to kill him.

That analogy was not different; we were just on horseback.

* * *

The area of the country where Mummy Holmes' house was had large areas filled with lush green grass, wild flowers and insects. It was quite picturesque and fake-looking; it looked like an illusion that would shatter in a moment and I'd be back in my armchair at 221B with Sherlock blowing up the kitchen (again).

The illusion was ruined slightly when we got further into the field and near a densely wooded area with a bridle path. There were _hundreds _of insects, if not thousand in the air. It cleared once we got to the cooler woods but I was aware of the nearly-silent crawling of beetles and similar tiny beasts on the ground.

I wondered how long it had been since both horses had been out. Chomper, more so than Rosaline, became excited when monsters such as cattle walked along beside the fence on the other side of us. Chomper wanted to say hello, it seemed, and Rosaline twitched her ears in acknowledgement and gave a small snort before carrying on her way.

* * *

Sherlock also taught me how to trot and go with the horse's natural rhythm. Once I got the hang of it, I loved the feel of the wind slapping my face and running through my hair. Sherlock said it'd help us get to our destination faster, and where it was I had no idea.

It took us about half an hour to get to a small stream, where I followed Sherlock as he dismounted (albeit with a lesser grace than he).

We came to a stop in a little meadow in the middle of the wood. Granted, it wasn't very big- it was circle shaped by about thirty metres- and the grass was up well above my knees, the flowers exploding in a massive whorl of colour through the lighting filtering through the trees (one of which had 'SH' carved into the trunk). However, I thought it was perfect in its own way and very, very beautiful.

* * *

I lost track of time there. Before I knew it the lighting had dimmed considerably, turning the sky above us bloody red, with hues of pink and shots of gold.

It was time to go back.

As Sherlock was helping me back onto Chomper, Sherlock stated: 'No one else, except for us, know here exists.'

'Why not?' I said, incredulous. 'It's beautiful! If I were you, I'd have brought every friend I had round for tea here.'

'It's special,' Sherlock smiled at me as he helped me pick up my reigns. 'I told you once, John, although it was quite long ago; I don't have friends. I only have one.'

* * *

During this time, we had time to talk.

Being on a horse, it seems, makes you spiritually as well as physically better than a normal man. For the first time in years, I felt happy, even on something that could kill me with ease. I felt perfect peace.

As I said goodbye to the meadow and we both continued our adventure back through the woods, my friend and I fell silent. It was just… the happy, blissful kind of silence that left neither of us awkward or cold. It was a silence which was comfortable, because we could say nothing to each other but we'd hear all the words that we weren't saying.


End file.
